The village was in shambles, and it wasn't something the townsfolk could repair with some wood and elbow grease. DeMain had been given a lay-down of all that happened after some convoluted stories, but they'd been able to piece together a few key things.
Firstly, Avery had arrived and stayed about half a day before burning the Kami Tree. Secondly, he was undoubtedly a Xanthist, which was a new term DeMain had never heard of. Thirdly, the town's Kami Tree had been burned, which had weakened its protections against spirits significantly. Instead of them wandering just out of view, they now actively crept into town with intent to cause active harm. He himself had been on the receiving end of a spirit who he initially thought was some kind of child wearing a ghost costume, but which tried to devour him whole as soon as it caught him alone in his house.
It'd been horrifying, but one swish of his spiritblades had reduced the spirit to flickering fragments of what once was. DeMain had no use for it, nor a way to store it unless he wanted to lug around another cage. Nobody he offered it to wanted it either—there was little they could get in return for it. So he tossed it to the wind, watching it disappear forever as the remnants of its self dispersed in the wind and soil. A brief part of him felt sad for the spirit's limited existence, but he had no other choice.
Returning to the points made, the village wasn't in a stable enough environment to continue housing people as it had. Their guardian spirit Ma'Iingan could only do so much to upkeep protection. DeMain was thankful the wolf spirit was loyal and intelligent, and that it knew he had made an honest mistake in thinking the roles of hero and villain were switched. A surprising few witnesses blamed DeMain for trying to protect Avery from the spirit and not knowing better, but he still felt like a fuckup for it. Kaiyo wouldn't look at him without glaring daggers, and though she knew it wasn't his fault there was little else around to direct her anger at. Yolanda made sure to prattle him about how stupid it was to go rushing in, but even she hadn't known what was going on at first.
"—Well I had to do something!" DeMain snapped. It felt like an argument with his mom, except neither of them were old enough to fulfill that role.
"Well yeah, but assess the situation a little first. I was going to blast Avery with my wand (once I completed my dance) but you were almost on top of him when I was done!"
"Didn't he run off? Could have shot at him then."
"I was busy trying to make sure Ma'Iingan didn't eat you or something! You're lucky he's a good boy instead of a rabbit mutt."
Because of DeMain, the little arsonist had gotten away with a lot less punishment than he deserved. Avery had put people out of safe homes and murdered innocents. DeMain was lucky these people were understanding, but nothing beat the soul-crushing feeling of having ruined something so badly. Kaiyo hated him, and Kurt wasn't here to crack a joke in DeMain's favor to save face.
It was difficult not to rush out of town and follow Avery. The problem came with leaving children and the elderly in a defenseless position. If any more able-bodies were gone, they'd be unable to protect anyone left behind. The townsfolk needed to leave, but discussions on where to go fell flat. They had to relocate to a safer establishment, but the only other one they knew was the Salmon Anchor Town based in Ireland. Worse, it was impossible to tell where that might be in the shifting pieces of the Reikai. Ferrying everyone by train across the globe wasn't an option either, the town didn't have enough money between its members to allow for that. Plus, all of them traveling at once on the other side of the Veil could be a bad decision if the world decided it wanted to rid itself of a few more witches. They'd be fish in a barrel no matter which way they went. There were whispers of other possible homesteads in Japan and Russia, but the Reikai was again impossible to predict and traverse. They'd have no ability to plan for anything. It got DeMain to think.
He approached the squabbling elders of the town within their makeshift meeting-tent, all old women who seemed to be more diverse in languages and looks than they were similar. He couldn't understand how they could agree to anything with so many barriers and ideals standing between the six of them. Evidently they didn't, since the burnt body of Kurt was still laying outside when they had called a meeting to discuss what to do with him an hour ago. They hadn't even begun on their own Grandmother Ashaya, who had been nestled close to the ashen remains of the Kami Tree. They were wasting time with petty personal matters and lives were on the line.
"LADIES!" DeMain interrupted, not sure of anything else that would grab attention. The women went quiet and eyed him, some already turning back to old conversations. A few paid him mind, which was better than what he'd expected. A woman with a thick Spanish accent spoke first.
"What is it, niño? We are busy."
"Oh hush Josefina." Another of the old women spoke. This one looked closer to DeMain. "We aren't busy. We haven't even decided what to do. Let the boy speak, maybe it's good news."
DeMain chuckled a little too loudly, his nervousness showing like light through glass. "Uh… yeah. Well, I had an idea. You guys don't know where to go right?"
"That is correct, but tread carefully. I do not have patience." The Spanish woman warned. She clearly didn't like being informed of their shortcomings yet again. DeMain wouldn't want to be reminded so soon either, he didn't blame her.
"Yes, I will. Basically, I'm thinking we can use Malik's caged spirits as offerings to a guiding spirit. Maybe the one I have right now too." DeMain offered. The spirit at his side said nothing, but he suddenly felt only tension from within the cage.
"And which spirit would you trust, exactly?" The woman next to Josefina said. Josefina herself scoffed.
"You aren't actually listening to this boy, are you Dakota?
Dakota waved Josefina down. "Let him speak, we can reach a verdict after." Josefina huffed, silently eyeing DeMain with fresh vitriol.
"…Can I speak, or…?" DeMain asked. The women nodded, though their incessant bickering had stopped. Now all eyes were on him. He continued. "I was thinking I could reach out again to find a spirit, I had good luck before—or maybe one of you could?"
"The spirits are within Malik's possession. It would mean less if one of us were to offer it rather than his closest family."
"Right. Okay then, I can do some searching until I find a good spirit, and you guys can follow them."
"Pah! The boy is going to get us all killed." Josefina chimed. Even though it was in Spanish, insight from the Reikai told him exactly what she meant. The old women argued again, eventually deciding something for the first time that day. Josefina spoke up first.
"We will see which spirit answers your call before we agree to it. Until then, we will continue discussion of what to do with the dead."
Nobody seemed happy with the outcome, but DeMain had to live with what he got. At least they listened.
He exited the tent and saw Kurt's body had been moved. Yolanda was burying him near their home not far away, Kaiyo gently wrapping Kurt's body in linen and cloth in lieu of a coffin. DeMain couldn't describe the emotions going through their faces. It was something he could only envision as 'dark'. Nothing good was going on inside, and it reflected very accurately at surface level.
"Anything I can uh, do to help?" DeMain approached, hoping their aura of ire wouldn't be directed at him. They both just stared for a moment. Kaiyo returned to dressing her boyfriend's corpse, and Yolanda shook her head.
"Sorry. This is the only shovel I could find. Maybe you can swing by when we're done burying him?"
DeMain knew Yolanda was just trying to save him from making an already grim situation worse, but it still stung. He had no other options of helping at the moment, so he returned to Malik's backyard space and began setting up a large circle. The only way he could do it was by dragging an old branch through the dirt, but DeMain was able to get an okay circle down after some scuffing and rearranging of the lines.
He wished Ethel was around. She probably knew a way to do it without circles or with just a few words, but her role was that of one on the other side of the Veil. Come to think of it, she wouldn't even know all that had happened unless Avery decided to let her know for some reason. DeMain had no phone and the Reikai itself probably didn't support toll-free lines. There might be another way to let her know, and maybe Malik too if he could get the message across fast enough.
Guidance, guides, what symbols worked for that? DeMain had begun to frame the outer circles, but now he was stuck as to what worked to convey his need. An eye for insight could work—he wrote it on one of the three outer circles he'd made. There was also the brain, he guessed. Knowing the right choice was very important. Choices… an arrow splitting both ways directionally could cover that pretty well too.
DeMain sat within the circle, piling the cages from within Malik's home as offerings within the circle. Even if they were pretty meek, they were bound to attract something with quantity alone. It was a pile of maybe a dozen or so spirits in cages, all ripe for the taking. He had to case the area first to make sure there weren't any stray spirits who'd make off with his gift before it came time to use it, but they all seemed more occupied with the guardian of the town.
DeMain sat in the center of the circle and placed the spirit cages around himself, clasping his hands together in prayer. He had to still the ripples of thought in his mind, their constant calling a difficulty he'd faced a few times now. As soon as he was able to, the realm of the Reikai faded away. His vision wandered through dark tunnels, broken cities, and worlds of flame and corruption, searching.
Something to guide, he thought to himself. For a moment he swore he saw Avery lying in bed with fresh bandages, but the scene was suddenly obscured by overpowering sounds of static and transmission. DeMain was repelled, and he could not find the source again. He would try again later, now wasn't the time to be distracted.
Scrying across the shapeless pieces of the spirit world, DeMain found spirits who offered their hands to him. Among them, he could see three distinctly.
The first was a hand of twigs and furs wrapped together as a humanoid hand covered in green mosses. It seemed to grow and shift, and while it never truly changed size DeMain felt its presence wane from a towering aura to an ignorable flicker and back again. A spirit of the wilds, though he knew not what kind. A shapeshifter of some sorts.
The second was a more humanoid hand, wreathed in marks from burns and the scars of handiwork. It immediately rang with one term within DeMain's mind. Curiosity. The wonder of the unknown and the dangers that came with.
The last hand was unexpectedly familiar. Marble skin and smoke surrounding it. Instinctively, DeMain slapped it away with more force than he thought he could muster while within such a relaxed state. He heard Heressa's yelp as an echo, her offered hand already gone.
That left two. But curiosity could solve every problem they had if it could provide answers and guidance. DeMain felt as though turning away a gracious offering could end poorly with spirits, so he saddled the woodland hand with a caged spirit to take for its effort. The other hand he clasped in his own and dragged forward. It burned like a hot iron to his skin, but the moment passed before he could pull himself free.
DeMain sat in the grass and breathed as he returned to the fullness of his body. Where there was once nothing, a towering, powerful figure stood. It appeared as evil and satanic in every way it could, yet the scarred and scorched spirit regarded DeMain only with ease and interest. It was a beautiful man with vitiligo skin, his hair a mixture of natural tones and shades. Burns encircled his arms and legs, the rest of him covered by a black robe that clung tightly to his figure, a coyote pelt wrapped to cover his neck. Serpents of fire wreathed around the spirit's body, a halo of the same smokeless flame burning atop its head. DeMain met eyes with the Spirit of Curiosity, and saw only a black pit of childlike desperation and grizzled abandon—a need to know more out of both fear and respect for the world.
DeMain spat out his next words stupidly, there was only one figure of comparison he could draw from all that he knew. He'd heard his mother speak of him at church, and the pastors regarded him as an alluring evil.
"…Lucifer?"
The spirit narrowed its eyes, less in aggression and more as if to contemplate its next words.
"What does he represent to you?" It spoke. Its voice was definitely a match for the religious figure, with the tone of both man and woman that echoed in DeMain's ears in reassurance and warning.
"I don't know a whole lot about him. Temptation? Evil? Sweet words?"
The spirit regarded him quietly again. Somehow DeMain knew he wasn't in trouble, but he wasn't on great terms with this entity either.
"How much would you like to learn?" It asked, no right or wrong to its tone for DeMain to adhere to.
"…A lot? How much can I learn?"
"As much as you'd like."
"Well, I'd like to learn where the townspeople can go for safety."
He was trying to steer the conversation elsewhere now. This spirit wasn't doing anything but interviewing him. It seemed a little offended that DeMain had tried to cut it off, and the snakes reared around each other in a striking pose.
"Would you prefer if I didn't ask questions?" The spirit asked, leaning down towards DeMain the same way a parent might to their child.
"A little bit, yeah. I'm not sure if I have the time to talk right now."
"I see."
The spirit said nothing. DeMain waited for a response, a continuation, or even an awkward cough. Nothing.
"You can still talk right?" He felt himself getting heated. Lives were on the line and this thing only wanted to mock him. One flick of his wrist and he could go back to looking for a new spirit, a more helpful one.
"Would you like an apple?"
A red, polished fruit was offered to DeMain by the spirit's hands. He resisted the urge to slice it to pieces.
"You're wasting my time. I just want a guide for the Reikai so that these people can get to another anchored spot. Can you help with that or no? And no tricks, I know the stories about you."
"And what stories have you heard, child?"
"Don't call me that." DeMain spat. "I've heard about you. Tempting others, a monster below the surface, trying to bring about downfalls. It's not like I've never read a book."
The spirit said nothing, it simply raised its eyebrow. This pissed DeMain off more than anything it could have said to him, and he found his spiritblades being drawn at the entity. Its fiery snakes hissed, and it made no motion to quell them for DeMain's favor.
"You are a fool. An angry child. And that will be your undoing."
"Cut the shit. I'm gonna find another spirit who can help me." DeMain hissed, rearranging symbols of the ritual circle but struggling to think of what else would work in their absence.
"I can help you, but you seem to be conflating me with existing ideas."
"Dude, you literally have fire snakes and a burning crown. I don't think you can get more evil-looking than that."
"What would you prefer out of Curiosity? A safe haven for cats and children? It is a force that burns if you get too close, but rewards if you listen. Prometheus gave fire to drive humanity further, but it was not without its risks—and so he paid dearly. Iblis, Azazel, Lucifer. It is a temptation to explore the unknown that lies within all of us. You see before you only its worst, a manifestation of those who were singed by the flames of knowledge. And you call it 'evil'. Ugly in a moral way. You of all people should know not to judge based on appearance, yet here we are."
DeMain felt defeated, but any rebuttal he wanted to make seemed to hold itself on his tongue. He pushed past it, ignoring the insight of the countless.
"Why take that form then? Nobody is gonna listen to you while you're lookin' like that."
"You are under the impression that anyone controls their forms. Perhaps a few can cast illusions or present themselves falsely, but not all, no. I am the sum of the parts people have placed in me with their thoughts and feelings. I am born of it, for even my soul is an amalgamate."
"Sure. But I need help right now, not a lecture from the Devil."
"Do you think the Black Cat Spirit is a cat?"
"What?"
The spirit said nothing. It knew DeMain was confused and had heard it properly. It was waiting for an answer.
"Well, yes? But not a normal cat."
"And I am not a 'normal' devil. I only appear as one because that is how people have viewed me. Curiosity is temptation, sometimes an unforgivable sin. These unforgivable sins are visualized as faces and monsters people recognize, often ones from religious or theological sources. You conflate me with the face of my father, and yet I am not he."
The spirit was definitely brighter than some of the others DeMain had been around, but its attitude kept driving him further and further up the wall. Something about it reminded him greatly of Avery, always needing to act morally superior somehow. DeMain pushed away the Reikai's insight. He hadn't realized how dulling it felt until now, to constantly have the 'right' things whispered to you. He knew what he had to do, and all they were doing was wasting time.
"All you're doing is convincing me more that I can't trust you now. Even if you're not what I think you are, you represent pretty awful things."
"Perhaps." The spirit replied, neither confirming nor denying DeMain's point.
"If you're not going to help, then leave."
"I am helping. You do not realize it."
"Fuck you. You've just been calling me stupid in an indirect way this whole time!"
"Have I? Or has your temper gotten the best of you yet again?"
DeMain didn't let his brain come up with an answer, cleaving his blade through the space in front of him. The spirit's body was split, but living flames filled empty spaces and its body was whole in an instant. The flames came from the center, so all DeMain had to do was cut there until it was gone.
It was mid-swing when DeMain realized what he hated so much about this thing. The disconnect, the aloof nature. It was like Avery, yeah, but it'd been just the same as everyone else after his father's death too. The lawyers talked about what 'technically' happened. The funeral-goers lounged around for the free snacks. DeMain doubted even his classmates would have given a single shit for more than a day. It hardly affected them, why would they care?
His spiritblade cut through the entity as if nothing were really there, but the Spirit of Curiosity simply became whole again once more.
"Would you prefer if they cried with you?" The spirit taunted, its fiery serpents becoming wild. "Did you expect laughter? What did you want?" It asked, a tint of humor in its question. It found this funny, all of this.
Both blades angled tightly, DeMain brought them together around the creature's neck and cut dexterously. Even with a new missing head, it seemed unfazed. Red-hot snakes began to crawl from the neck, biting and lashing at DeMain's arms before he could retract. A pair of fangs dug into his wrist, boiling his blood and cooking the skin around it. He seethed and screamed aloud, his arm searing from a sensation it no longer had the nerves to feel. No punctures were present in his body, but the skin had been boiled, scorched, cooked and cracked the way it might have been over an open flame.
"I knew you were evil!" He shouted, clutching his hand. The spirit only frowned and grabbed him by the neck before he could charge it.
"I do not care for unruly children with no sense of caution." It spoke, the chorus of voices emerging as snakes from its stump of a neck. "Allow me to gift you a painful lesson."
DeMain's world became a living hell for a moment as the spirit bathed him in flames. A white-hot agony spread over his skin and his body as smoldering scales constricted him. Within the tormenting fire, DeMain was granted a vision. An answer to his burning question.
What if it was me instead?
DeMain broke free of his mother's grasp and rushed to the door, grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter. His feet took him to the front door, shoving past his dad and… and…
He was dead. He didn't even hear the gunshot, it was immediate. Nothing. A complete lack of stimulation, even his thoughts were gone. Total silence, an absence of anything.
Elijah Rich stared at himself in the mirror, pieces of glass still clinging in the frame from where he'd beaten it previously. His hand still ached, but he had neither the emotional capacity nor the money to care right now. He'd seen the cop smile at him. He'd seen the anger in his son's eyes as he rushed in to protect him. They'd been burned into his mind, how could he think of anything else?
Retreating to the kitchen on a half-healed leg, Elijah pulled out his shitty old touchscreen phone and scrolled through 'recent' in the news articles. They'd sent a story to the stations in the hopes someone would roll it to get publicity for the officer's horrible actions, but none of them had. One even responded saying the story was 'credibly flawed'. Fucking dipshits.
He wished he had the backbone his brother Malik had when they were younger. Elijah remembered fondly the time they used to roam the streets together, back when there were risks for doing that. Malik would scream, throw rocks, one time he managed to nearly kill a kid who harassed them for walking too close to his lawn. Said that they'd 'get it dirty'.
It took everything not to throw his phone against the wall when he saw an article labeling a 'respectable' Thomson Brandt receiving a promotion to captain for 'commendable action against corruption'. Maybe that was why they weren't releasing the story, they'd face backlash from the local precinct.
Elijah looked at his bum leg, testing its weight on the floor as he stood up and down. It would probably be fine in a week or so, he just needed to talk his wife into leaving for that extended stay one of her clients had offered to pay for. Elijah didn't like Mr. Olsen, the guy was an old fart and a pervert below the surface, but he offered good money. The least he could do was support Elijah's wife while he made the city a better place.
It took a few weeks of careful planning, but he managed to scrape together enough money out of a hedge fund he'd kept in secret as a surprise honeymoon trip in waiting, but there was nothing that could get either of them in the mood anymore. State legislator's had lessened the wait time for firearm purchases too, and Elijah's record had recently been expunged of any misdemeanors in light of his clean years of living. Guess it wasn't meant to last.
As he passed the mirror again, Elijah caught a glance at himself properly this time. Baggy eyes, old acne flare-ups from stress. He was pretty sure his hair had grayed too.
He wondered to himself if he'd lost his mind, but he felt a little too level-headed for that. His life insurance was paid, but all he could do was pray that it went through after his death. Elijah hardly mattered now anyhow. He couldn't go back to the place that'd take him because of his complaints, and nowhere else he fit could get the pay to—
No, it was just the two of them now. There probably were some places who'd pay well enough for just two people, but that felt like a lie he'd just keep living unless he did something now.
Elijah had spent a lot of time planning this in secret. With his wife finally gone for the week, he could enact his simple but hopefully well-executed plan.
The beat-up car Elijah drove everywhere pulled up to the condo neighborhood and parked way down the side of the road, out of sight. Of course, this was just so Thomson wasn't too nervous when he showed. He'd taken the liberty of wearing the most disarming clothes he had, mostly colorful hawaiian patterns and a large-brim hat for extra ridiculousness.
The home itself was easy to track down, but it gave itself away with whatever party the new captain was throwing in celebration. There were sounds of laughter and the smell of a grill cooking, children screaming and old men bantering. Elijah felt his will falter, and he almost turned around right then. But he didn't. Officer Brandt had every option to disarm DeMain, or even taze him. Elijah would have understood on some level, even if he were upset. Being charged by a kid with a knife wasn't foreign to him.
It wasn't just the line of action that irked Elijah. He'd mulled it over so many times. The way he'd worked for sixteen odd years to provide something better for someone who wasn't himself, all taken away and thrown in the trash. All that beautiful potential, that beautiful blooming mind—plucked like a weed.
Elijah eyed his dirty fingernails as he approached the front door. That smile haunted him. The complete and utter joy the man had taken in his complete and utterly unforgivable cruelty. The way he'd turned to Elijah after the foul deed, as if contemplating whether two dead monkeys would be too much of a hassle.
The doorbell rang, and after some drunken stupor from within it opened. Brandt was trashed, but even through the haze of alcohol he knew in his most primal instincts to regard Elijah with disgust.
"Oh. One of you." Brandt slurred.
Elijah pulled the gun out as he had practiced many times before and unloaded five shots into the man, saving the last for himself. By the time they were discovered, they were both with bullets in their brains.
DeMain reeled, his body weak and shaky from the intense pain overwriting his senses. His neck had been burnt so badly he could barely speak, the imprint of two hands wrapped around it permanently charred into his skin. He couldn't remain upright, and he could only suck in air forcefully rather than breathing painlessly. The Spirit of Curiosity loomed over him, still frowning.
"How much power we give, and yet how little things change. At least you are quiet now." It muttered, turning away as its serpentine head wove itself back together as a humanoid face. "Caution does not exist inherently in man, it must be taught. It is without caution you were first created, and to that end it is without caution most of you die. You are no exception, DeMain."
DeMain wanted to refute, to strike the spirit again. His body refused to listen instead, the burns over his skin had crippled any will to move from now until next week. All he could do was glare in defiance at the entity. The only response he got was another deeply unsettled frown.
"It's a pity that you two have been pitted against one another. You could learn a lot from him, and he from you. Not to mention the other one…"
The spirit clapped and released DeMain from his anguish, though his throat was still burnt and decimated by heat. The vision of his father had been seared into his neurons too. DeMain wondered if that false reality was just a lie to make him angrier.
"You don't know anything about me." DeMain thought, standing and huffing through a melted airway. He couldn't speak, but the spirit heard him. To his horror, the entity's face shifted and stretched into a smile that fit the better perversions of a demon.
"I don't know anything about you? I have gifted you the pieces to your own fragile being, and yet you persist. For what?"
"I didn't go through poverty and watching my dad die just to end up with the same kinds of people treating me the same way as before."
"My mistake. I meant your incessant persistence to annoy me. I have clearly beaten you. Would you rather be reduced to cinders?" The spirit asked, a bolt of flame melting away all but DeMain's bones.
The spirit released DeMain from its grasp, and he hit the dirt. It'd just been probing him, none of this was even real. Except—except for the burn on his throat. Two hands forcefully branded around his neck like a collar.
"What an interesting outcome. I wonder what would happen if you had less backbone. Let's find out."
DeMain put his hands up weakly in an attempt to stop the invading spirit, but in one move it had him pinned below it. He saw himself again, this time with long dreadlocks instead of a shorter cut. Another time where he managed to work up the courage to talk to a girl, only to be rejected as harshly as possible. Next it ran him through his fight with Marcus Brown from school, only for the kid to pull a knife and gut him.
The visions continued on, as scrutinizing in differences as to how he did his hair for the day to choosing to beat someone up on the side of the street for no reason.
"STOP" DeMain called out, visions still assailing him.
"I'm just doing what you asked me to."
"Well it's not what I meant! Stop!"
The spirit retreated from his mind and slid its arms within its robe, staring down at him. DeMain huffed and inspected the ritual circle, realizing something he hadn't before. He'd asked for guidance without specifying what kind. The spirit was doing everything he technically asked for, just in a very punishing manner.
"I get it now." DeMain croaked. He could speak but just barely now, and he still wasn't happy with all that had been shown and done to him. It felt violating to know spirits and witches could just dig around in your mind whenever they wanted, even without letting them in. Letting them in…
"Let's make a deal, okay?" He strained, getting back to his feet—his real feet this time. "You get into this cage to guide the town to safety—I don't know how you can but you will—and I'll do any one thing you ask within my power as a human being."
"But you're not a human. You're a witch." It replied, a twinkle of curiosity in its eyes. DeMain was still shaken by the instance, he was hyper-analyzing everything he said and did now out of pure terror for what a wrong choice could mean. He'd been stabbed and beaten over minor disputes for what felt like days in his mind, there was no way it wasn't going to affect him at least a little.
"What's the difference? That I can pass through the Veil?"
"Would you really like to know?"
"Without the invasion of the mind stuff, yeah."
"Very well, if you will listen this time."
DeMain looked around and grabbed an old rusty porch chair leaning against the house. The spirit didn't seem to mind him getting a seat, even though he was pretty sure his father would have reprimanded him for it.
"Okay, I'm ready." He spoke, attempting to rub off the burn scar around his throat. DeMain still wasn't sure if the visions had been fabricated lies to make him afraid, or if they were real outcomes. Either way, any anger he had leftover had been whipped out of him by the countless consequences he'd faced within them. Even if it was a lie, he wanted a break. And so he listened.
"There's a piece of you that is a spirit much like me. The first witches were descendants between several families and the Spirit of Love, who was new at the time. They went on to give birth to gifted children, a fragment of their forbearing spirit instilled within them all. That fragment, like spirits, grows in strength over time, even as it is passed down through countless generations. Perhaps if the first witches worked and prayed together they could make it rain, or gather spirits. Now, with all that humanity has built and strived for, the fragments have grown stronger and stronger."
DeMain raised his hand, the spirit's eyes flicking over to it immediately.
"You have a question?"
"Yeah. Well, a few, if you'll answer them. The Spirit of Love is my ancestor? How does that work?"
"Not quite. Some are tied to her, others are born of different spirits through mutual agreements and the unlikely sexual encounter."
DeMain thought mostly about the tiny spirits who looked like goblins and shuddered. He knew the Spirit of Curiosity meant others like himself who were capable of human feats, but he couldn't think of anyone who'd want to be burned alive endlessly during sex. Actually no, he could. The girls from his school were pretty crazy sometimes, and they spoke just a little too loud for him not to notice.
"How did the Spirit of Love even get past the Veil if she was, well, a spirit?"
"Back then there was no Veil. No separation. Most spirits were weak and able to be fended off with mere words and simple rituals. But, as time passes, both witches and spirits grow stronger from the world's churning of hopes, dreams, —and sufferings.
"How was there no Veil? I thought it was just an innate concept."
"The Veil is much like a spirit in its own right. It is the belief of hope, protection, the very idea of safety itself which propels it. The tears are merely expanding symptoms from centuries of an unsafe world manifesting. In the early days it existed, though its similarity was more to a thin stream of water than a barrier.
"Oh." DeMain felt like Ethel had mentioned something akin to that during one of their conversations, but he wasn't sure. "I'm just gonna guess The sex part is different for each spirit then. So these fragments get stronger and they grow? Do they go away when we die? …Do I become a ghost?"
"No."
"…To what?"
"All of those, actually. Each fragment is tied to the person. I suppose it's better phrased as an extension of one's soul if we're going by human beliefs. An added piece no others possess, but which singles you out to others as flawed somehow. Perhaps it is both the world's and their own way of protecting themselves from the unknown, to defend themselves from that which truly does not belong."
"So… Wait, shit. I still have to help everyone. Can you get into the cage?"
"That cage would neither contain nor hinder me whatsoever. If you would really care for my guidance, we can strike a deal on my terms."
DeMain was still apprehensive. This spirit was wily and had been unpredictable so far, why wouldn't it be in the future?
"I'm going to let you tell me what exactly it is that you want, and then I'll make a decision. And if you try to change the terms or something afterwards, I'll find a way to end the deal—even if I have to burn myself alive."
The spirit nodded in a bow. "The terms of my deal are simple. You crave knowledge. I crave knowledge too, but I cannot experience the world through any perspectives but my own. I can offer you every alternate route, ever pinpointed detail I have learned over my eons of existence. I will act as your teacher, and you as mine."
"You gonna steal my memories or something then?"
"No. I will be a second ear to the whispers of your insight, your ancestors."
"The extra voices I get are my ancestors…? I thought it was from the Reikai itself. Does that mean my dad—"
"It's hard to tell. The Reikai does deepen connections, but the ancestral wisdom is more of a collective than a singular voice." The Spirit of Curiosity said, clasping its hands together to illustrate. "I mentioned these fragments—a very poor term for them really, they're more like threads. As generations pass, the knowledge and experience passes down to the next and so on. Only those in an Awoken state can perceive them, but all whispers are different. You have a strong sense of family and deep roots whether you realize it or not DeMain, but another in your shoes may have no whispers at all to guide them. That is perhaps the only thing that makes you remotely special."
"Again with the insults? Come on, I thought we were past that." DeMain chided.
"It's not an insult. It is advice."
"How is 'you're not special' advice?"
"Terrible is the fall from grace, to which the crow plucks its feathers—for it believes it can fly without them."
"Wouldn't a spirit like you reaching out to me, along with Heressa and Viridia, kind of prove that I am special?"
"Have you ever played Go?"
"…Go?"
"It is an ancient game that predates even chess, something I know you to be familiar with. Its principles are simpler, but still open to intense strategizing. Its origins are in China, but that's not my point of mention. The game begins with slow, small moves. Perhaps a few spirits make contact here or there, a big play is made every few turns but nothing is inevitably decided yet. As the game goes on and reaches its end, more and more risks are taken to gain control of the board. More pieces fall, more heavy hands are laid. We are approaching the end, and as such even the most reclusive of spirits are eager to make their move."
"This is happening to everyone else? …What's going on then?"
"That, I do not know. Even I cannot oracle the means of which the Old Witch Gods move their pieces, but change screams in the wind to us older spirits. Those of the Xanthic Court are excited—giddy even—for whatever is to come."
"Heressa is probably in the Xanthic Court. She's a New Witch God but I doubt she would be as active as she was unless she had plans. She did seem a little too smiley for a Suicide Goddess when I last saw her, too."
"It's possible. Continue to feed that spark of ideas and theories, it is what will drive us both."
The spirit offered its smooth, pale hand to DeMain. He was tentative at first, but the moment he reached out to accept it, the spirit turned his hand palm-up.
Within the spread fingers lay a small, fiery serpent. Its coils wound through the spirit's fingers like wrappings of molten silk. DeMain reached for it, but the spirit stopped him.
"If you wish to receive my gifts, you must be open to what I represent. Curiosity is a fickle thing, and I am indebted to you as you are to me."
DeMain relaxed in the chair and laid back, his head still swimming with phantom pains from his experiences. He could lament how lost he had felt, but for once in a long time he felt his worst traits being reflected back at him. His eagerness towards violence, his willingness to use any smidgen of power to control others. DeMain hadn't been wrong on every account, but he'd definitely been more irresponsible since being away from his mom and…
His dad.
The spirit pressed its nails gently to his left eyelid, pressing them away to reveal the eye within. DeMain could see nothing past the blinding light shown to him, but he was glad for the misunderstood gift the second the serpent began to slither its way past the orb. He could do little more than grit his teeth and bite his lips until they bled. Struggling would only make it worse, but like a shot at the clinic it was over in less than a few seconds.
His vision slowly returned, seeming no different than before. DeMain looked up to find the spirit was gone, though he knew only a small piece of itself had actually been given to him. Unlike before, the voices of his insight were joined together, bundled as if they were one entity to which he could direct any need for guidance to. Like pool balls striking one another, questions and answers were shot back and forth. Everything he needed was at his fingertips, he needed only to ask and receive it.
His first most pressing desire was to know how to help the townsfolk, and his answer was a rather unexpected Anchor Spirit.